


Of Boar and Beast

by patricia_von_arundel



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: During Timeskip (Fire Emblem: Three Houses), F/M, Family, Fire Emblem: Three Houses Black Eagles Route, Post-Black Eagles Route (Fire Emblem: Three Houses), Post-Fire Emblem: Three Houses, Post-Timeskip | War Phase (Fire Emblem: Three Houses), Pre-Timeskip | Academy Phase (Fire Emblem: Three Houses), Tragic Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-21
Updated: 2020-04-24
Packaged: 2021-03-02 01:15:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,957
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23776711
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/patricia_von_arundel/pseuds/patricia_von_arundel
Summary: "As though there's finally someone who understands how I truly feel” - words Marianne never dreamed that she would say; words Dimitri never dreamed that he would hear. Theirs should have been the perfect ending to a perfect love story. But in the inferno of war, endings are so rarely happy ones...
Relationships: Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/Marianne von Edmund
Comments: 6
Kudos: 38





	1. Part I: The Lucky Charm - 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is an idea I've attempted to begin several times, and finally decided to force myself to really tackle as part of the celebration for Fire Emblem's Anniversary. Happy 30th, FE!

The land was barren, endless, and frigidly cold. Rocky, uneven hillocks gave way to expanses of scrubby plain, colorless and shelterless, which in turn rose again: up and down. Up and down. There was no longer a beginning - days long since blurred together in the pulsing, dizzy remains of her mind. A twisted wasteland of twisted trees and twisted reality - and would there ever be a more appropriate place for her twisted soul to remain trapped for all eternity? 

The hubris of coming here at all - she had defied the wills of those who had sacrificed so much for her, and in doing so, likely defied the will of the Goddess herself. Why would the Goddess have placed in her such circumstances, if she was not expected to obey? Here was her proof: disobedience had brought her here, where she would eventually lose what little strength remained. She would curl up against one of those grotesque, stunted trees, and wait to die like an animal.

“Like a beast.” Even her own voice sounded battered by this land - raw and weak. But she could not deny, even to herself, the truth of those words. 

And how often, in the lost expanse of days past, had she longed for such a clean, simple end? How many mornings had she blinked her way from a cold, stiff, trembling doze, and wondered how long she might last if she remained there, rather than once more staggering to her feet and stumbling onward? She could not even be sure she was still going the right way - the map she had stolen from her father showed roadways, not how to traverse the mountains and hills and barren wasteland she had foolishly believed might be the quicker, safer route - so why disappoint herself at the end of another day? Surely the Goddess would not see it as taking her own life, if she succumbed to the cold, the wind, and the desperate emptiness in her belly? The Goddess, of all creatures, would know her incapability of finding success in anything but death. 

More foolishness, and right from the start - her frantic attempt, late in the night as the house slept around her, to gather enough provisions for her journey. She had already taken the map by then, and made clumsy, amateur attempts to figure out just how long she was likely to be traveling. Two or three days, no more, she believed, so she gathered enough food for five - just in case. Two hundred gold from her father’s study - and a solemn, silent vow to him and to the Goddess that she would see it paid back, with extra for the food and for the map, just as soon as she was able.

She would. She would. 

She had left before dawn, not sure how to secure a place on a coach, but determined to do so. Something almost like confidence - until the driver told her the journey she wished to take would cost almost three times the money she had brought. There had been sadness in his eyes - or perhaps it was merely pity. “Sorry, little miss. Never know when the roads might shut down, thanks to the Saints-bedamned Emperor and her war. I got to make a living while I still can, y’understand?”

She tucked the gold back into her bag, looking down and feeling rather ashamed of herself for her assumption. “Yes. I... I understand. I’m sorry.”

It seemed, at the time, only a very small setback. Surely, she could find another option? She considered trying to pay for a ride on a merchant’s wagon - something she knew she had read of in storybooks, as a child - but she wasn’t certain anyone actually did this, or of how to find where a particular merchant was going. She couldn’t very well ask all of them. And if a coach cost almost 600 gold, how much might a merchant charge - more, or less? She didn’t want to risk all the money she had brought. 

So she had decided to at least begin the journey on foot - it was late spring, almost summer, and the air breezy and warm, the sky cloudless. Looking at her map, it seemed possible in the first day to pass through Derdriu and into Daphnel territory, where she could perhaps find a town or village with an inn with a room for the night? Inns were for travelers of all stations, so they must have rooms for a pittance - she would only require a small one, for a few hours’ rest. 

That tiny confidence was with her once more as she set out, then still following the road that began above the Margravate, snaking down the Alliance from the fisheries and textile factories of the north, through the major cities of the central territories, and then all the way to Garreg Mach. The same road she had traveled with her father over a year before - on her way to the Officers Academy. There had not been even this shred of confidence then - only cold, clawing terror, sharp as the talons of the Beast she might become. No matter how many times her father assured her that her Crest would be kept secret, she knew he could not truly guaranty it. If she was lost to the essence within her blood, there would be no way at all to hide it. 

It had not happened. By the goodness and will of the Goddess, it somehow still had not happened. 

But it still _could_ happen. It was time to leave. 

She stopped by an apple orchard for lunch. The trees were just beginning to blossom - she had always liked the little pink-and-white flowers: silken, delicate, and falling so soon. Already, they littered the ground where she sat cross-legged to eat: half a roll, some cheese, and a bit of a little cake. There was a blackbird nest in the crook of one of the trees, and she crumbled the other half of the roll and tossed it where the parent-birds might gather the crumbs, reassuring them softly to take as much as they wished, and see that their babies were well-fed. She smiled, watching them hop and peck. She liked to be able to share. 

But once on the road again, she was faced with the niggling of her first true worry since sneaking into her father’s study the night before: the sun had begun its slow afternoon descent, but she had not yet reached Derdriu, much less gotten through it to the landholdings that would bring her to the border with Faerghus. 

She was going the right way - she knew that much. She had passed things she could remember seeing on the journey to Garreg Mach: an abandoned farmhouse slowly, haphazardly in the process of collapsing to ruin. A roadside tavern with an inexplicably detailed picture of a bright green horse painted on its swinging sign. A field of tulips - only buds, the last time, but now, later in the season, they were in full bloom: like a painting, all vivid reds and purples and yellows. 

But by carriage, the distance from the Edmund lands to Derdriu could be traveled in less than three hours - so why, after twice that, was there no sign of it? A horse was faster than a person, of course, even when pulling a carriage, but a person could keep up with a walking horse at a jog. 

Had she truly miscalculated so badly, already?

She had. She failed to reach even Derdriu, that first day. She finally stopped at an inn in a tiny hamlet of a community, her feet dreadfully sore from exertion, and her head from her growing worry. The cost was a relief - only 30 gold - and the room, though drafty, was comfortable enough. Still, she slept little. She found herself lying still, late into the night, trying to picture the map in her mind, as if that might somehow tell her just where she had gone wrong. It seemed to warp and grow, morphing and twisting against endless darkness, until it bled into sleep, where she dreamed of reaching desperately for the lines of roads as they wiggled away, only to realize they were ropes, and the map was tilting, and she was sliding - sliding towards a bottomless nothingness, no matter how desperately she clawed for purchase against the waxed surface. 

She woke with a startled little gasp, her hands clutching the bed’s threadbare quilt. She gulped down shaky breaths, her eyes blinking rapidly before seeking the meager comfort of the shuttered window, the wan, grey light of dawn seeping through. 

But that second day remained grey, clouds hanging low and heavy, though fortunately the rain held off until late afternoon. By then, she _had_ finally reached Derdriu - just barely. Her legs hurt now as much as her feet, as did her lower back, and her shoulders from carrying her bag, though all it contained, besides the map, money, and food, was a single, warmer change of clothes and her thickest cloak - because she had heard summers in Faerghus could be chilly and damp, and spring still like winter for much of the rest of Fódlan. 

She sought out a room for the night as rain began to fall in earnest - it quickly turned heavy and hard, soaking her through, and when the innkeeper quoted her 120 gold, dinner included, she could not find the physical strength, much less the mental, to venture back out into the gloomy, growing darkness and the rain. Stringy beef, mealy bread, and beans that tasted oddly fishy - this was the last hot meal she had had. 

The last, she now realized, she was likely to ever have. 

It was drizzling the next day; her clothes still damp despite a night laid out as close to the fireplace as she had dared. That was the first time she had put on her cloak - she had not removed it since - and the day she had decided to leave the road in favor of traveling due west. She used 10 gold to buy a compass from one of Derdriu’s markets - she had a rough idea of how to use it. It would have to be enough. The last of her money went to a bit more food - a loaf of crusty round bread, more cheese, and some dried fish. 

She had hesitated, for the first time, at the last bridge leading from the city; it crossed a wide, lazy waterway whose name she did not know. She looked to the north - back towards the way from whence she had come. There was a harbor - one of so many scattered around Derdriu - and she watched men jump from a fishing boat, tying it to the mooring with quick, expert ease. One shouted to the others, words she could not make out, or perhaps a foreign tongue, but there was no difficulty understanding their shared laughter.

Where was home, for them? Here in Derdriu, or elsewhere in the Alliance, or Almyra, or even Sreng? People came from all over the northern lands to Derdriu to sell their fish, their crabs and shrimp and clams. But they _had_ homes.

And… did she? Margrave Edmund had been kind to her, even if stern, and never particularly warm and affectionate - not that she could hold such disinclination against him. He had taken her in despite the distance of their blood relationship, and despite - an even greater burden upon his good name - the cursed Crest that dwelt within her. For four years, he had seen her fed, clothed, educated. He had paid the considerable expense for the Officers Academy without a word of complaint.

He would have _said_ he had offered a home. More of his generosity and his kindness. But she had chosen to squander her right to call it so when she had silently refused the one thing he had asked of her in return:

To side with the Empire.

She had been lying to herself. But she knew the truth of it. This time - and perhaps it would be for the only time in her life - she had been using her Crest as an excuse.

If her Crest was the culprit, why had she left for Faerghus?

The chaotic day before Edelgard returned to Garreg Mach: she and Lysithea were to leave with Hilda’s brother Holst. Lady Rhea had ordered _all_ the students to leave, but some - those already well-seasoned in battle - had remained to see the others off. Among them...

“Dimitri.”

He was at one of the smaller side gates, where students might head north or west along the side roads, far from the advancing army. There were none there yet, when she found him - it was early still, cold and foggy, the dawn no more than a bright smudge within the mist. There had been a solemn, dark mood clinging to the monastery for several weeks, and the chill of late winter morning did nothing to dissipate it. 

Dimitri, in cloak and thick gloves, his hair in even more disarray than usual, wore an expression as dour and bleak as the weather - until he turned at the sound of her voice. Surprise, then, in his eyes - but a smile on his lips. 

How would he respond, if she were to find the courage to say she felt as lucky to see his rare smiles as he claimed to feel to see hers? 

She would never find that courage - and certainly not now, when their time together would be so short. There was something far more important she needed to say. 

“Marianne!” He took a step, as if to approach her, then seemed to think better of it. “I thought surely you would have left long before now. Is everything well? Do you have safe passage back to the Alliance?”

“Yes - please don’t... don’t worry about me. I leave later today.”

A strange expression, very briefly, crossed his face - something almost dark. Then it was gone, and he gave a curt nod. “Good. I am glad to hear it. Please, stay safe on your journey.”

She knew the reason for the darkness and conflict in his eyes - she had come to understand where his attention truly lay many months before. It was no surprise recent events had left him in such turmoil. And this was the other reason she did not mention the joy she found in his smile - she feared it might only make the tumult within him even worse. 

But there was surely no harm in attempting a smile for him - just a friendly one. “You as well, Dimitri. The Goddess will watch over her home.”

He nodded again. “As she will. And I will be gone soon, I assure you - as soon as the others are safely away. Is there something I can do for you?”

“Um...” This was the awkward part - she was not used to asking things of others, except that they keep far away from her. “I... I have something for you. And... there is something... would you really... do something for me? Well... not _just_ for me, but...” Her voice trailed off and she looked down, embarrassed at her own presumption, despite all the time she had spent convincing herself it was acceptable to ask. 

“Anything,” he said - sure. There was no hesitation. “Anything at all it is within my means to do for you, I give you my word that I will do it.”

She fumbled from the pocket of her cloak the tangled, soft, familiar strands of leather. “Please - would you... take this?”

She managed to look up again as he did as asked. He turned it over in his hands, his expression curious. “A bridle?”

“It’s...” Feeling foolish again. Ridiculous. A flush rising in her face. “It’s Dorte’s. He’s still here. I... I’m worried for him.”

“No harm will come to him.” Again, Dimitri spoke without hesitation. His hand reached out - stilled - then brushed, very softly, against her cheek. “I can swear that to you.” There was red in his cheeks now too, though perhaps it was just from the wind beginning to pick up. 

_You’re a good friend, Dimitri_. But even that felt a presumption too far. “I... Thank you. I, um... I asked Dorte to... to keep you safe, as well.”

“That was very kind of you. You have my thanks.”

She bit her lip - this was the hardest part. The part she had dreaded even more than the asking. “I should go. Lysithea already warned me - not to be late. I...” For just a moment, her eyes met his. “Goodbye, Dimitri.”

She had to force herself to turn and go - such an alien feeling! Her heart was beating too quickly; it was difficult to catch her breath.

“Wait - Marianne!”

Another alien feeling - she stopped. She looked back. 

Even at a distance, she could see Dimitri swallow hard. “If you ever have need of anything else, anything at all, please - come find me. Please.” He was holding the bridle, still - both hands almost seeming to clutch it. 

She attempted a smile. It would not come. “Thank you, Dimitri.”

She had not seen him since. Some small, practical part of her had tried hard to accept she never would again. The alliance as a whole had yet to declare a side, but the Kingdom had not been so cautious - they had offered sanctuary to the Church and issued a proclamation of war against the Empire almost immediately after the fall of Garreg Mach. Dimitri would head the army. Of course he would - it was the kind of leader he was, no matter the turmoil within him.

Standing on the last bridge heading west from Derdriu, all these months later, there was as yet no sign of war. But it was here - it was everywhere. She would soon be joined by many, many others with no place to call home. 

This was not home. The Margravate of Edmund was not home. Perhaps she had no home. Perhaps she never would. Perhaps it was only to be expected. 

Perhaps home was more than she deserved. 

She crossed the bridge. She left the wide, meandering road. 

She finished the last of her food as the fields of the western Alliance gave way to the forested mountains that separated Leicester and Faerghus. Already, it was becoming harder to keep track of the time since she had left - five days now? Six? It was hard to focus on _anything_ besides the throbbing pain in her legs and back; the blisters on her feet. However long it had been, however far she had traveled, it seemed a lifetime since she had eaten beef and beans that tasted of fish, or slept with a blanket wrapped around her and a pillow beneath her head. 

There would be food in the woods, surely? Berries, wild fruit - acorns? Had she once heard someone say it was safe to eat acorns? And water, at least, would be plentiful; there was always water to be found in the Alliance. Water would also mean fish, but she wasn’t sure how to catch one, and even if she did, she very much doubted she would have the nerve to kill it, and if she somehow managed _that_ much, how was she to eat it? She did not much fancy a _raw_ fish, but she lacked any ability to start a fire - even if she’d known how to use a flint, she had none. 

Berries she did find, initially - small, sour strawberries and blueberries, but food was food. Rhubarb, as well: even more sour. She always tried to remember to save some, only to gorge herself as soon as she had tasted it. Her stomach felt often as if it were completely hollowed out, beginning to collapse in on itself. She shoved blueberries into her mouth by the handful, ignoring the stains on her hands, the juice running down her chin. 

_Like a beast, like a beast, like a beast._

She still truly slept then, some; the nights were growing colder as the land began to veer upward, but wrapped tightly in her cloak, she could find a few hours of dreamless oblivion: no pain, begging her not to take another step. No hollow, echoing emptiness in her belly. No fear of herself, and all the mistakes she had once again made. No Beast. 

The map was useless now, though she kept it - it did not belong to her. She used the sun to make sure she continued to go toward the west and the north, when she wasn’t sure of the compass. 

Everything, not just days, blending together - trees and mountains and trees and now... nothingness. Eternal nothingness. 

There was no food. 

There was no sleep. 

She spent the darkness huddled against the base of a tree, shivering desperately, closing her eyes, and sure she could hear the whisper of clawed footsteps. 

_The Beast_. 

Her bag was gone. She had no memory of losing it. 

Her feet stumbled. And again. She had fallen - more than once. Yet still, she walked. She couldn’t remember getting up. The cold was like needles, penetrating her fingers and toes. It made her cry, and the tears froze on her cheeks. One of her gloves was gone - _when?_

 _This_ was the Beast. There was none of her left. 

This was death.

“Goddess...” 

One step. Another one. Swaying, her head weightless, and yet leaden. Another step. 

“Goddess forgive me...” Hardly a sound.

But there was another.

A sound that she knew. 

Horses...?

“Stay where you are!”

One of the horses was chestnut brown, the other piebald. Pretty. They were pretty. She reached out. She wanted to pet them. There was shouting, but it was just babble-babble-babble. The piebald horse snorted, nervous. Of course he was nervous. All that _noise_. 

“What is going on? What are you -”

She stilled. She blinked. Something...

“Your Highness, wait!”

She blinked again. Slowly - slowly - she raised the heaviness within her head. 

He wasn’t in uniform. She’d never seen him not in uniform. 

Her eyes blurred. Burned. Lids heavy as her skull. 

“ _Marianne?!_ ”

His voice. His _voice_. 

She opened her mouth, but had no sound left within her. None at all. 

Her eyes found his. 

When she collapsed, he caught her. 


	2. Part I: The Lucky Charm - 2

At Marianne’s bedside, the desperate screams of the past were silenced. The room was in one of the old towers - quiet, removed from the tumult of war that had descended like a plague of grasshoppers into the newer parts of the castle. There was never quiet there, and much of the time it drove him half-mad, especially on the days when his head ached its worst. 

But there were no screams, nor headaches, here. Just the bed, where she was tucked beneath furs and quilts, and a fireplace he had ordered be kept aflame day and night - leaving the room, by the standards he was accustomed to, stiflingly hot. It was a small enough burden to bear, for her sake. He would never forget the state of her when she was found: her skin blanched and raw from the frigid wind, her lips and fingers a darker blue than her hair. Unconscious though she was, she had nonetheless curled tightly against his chest, her body wracked with tremors, as they rode quickly for Fhirdiad, the day’s intended training session cancelled without a word. 

He would never have dared such intimacy under any other circumstances, and the proper action would have been to let someone else carry her - Dedue had even offered - but in that unbelievable, terrifying ride home, he could not stand even the thought of entrusting her to anyone else. Not until they were back to the walls within walls of the castle. Not until he knew for certain she was _safe_.

He did not know where she had come from, nor why she was here - questions such as those could wait for as long as was necessary. She needed time to recover. Time to heal. Almost two weeks had passed, and thought he had seen little of it himself - he could not spend even half as much time as he wished watching over her - the physicians and healers assured him she was making steady progress in her recovery. She still did not wake often, but when she did, it was no longer in confusion that quickly gave way to panic. She was eating more, though he would not have known it from the hollows in her cheeks or the protrusions of her collarbones through the gown in which she slept. 

“She’ll be just fine, Your Highness,” one of the healers said, invariably, each time he was able to find a chance to visit, as she and the others gathered their things and quickly disappeared, offering him unrequested privacy. The healer was an older woman, pink-cheeked and sweet, likely very good for timid Marianne - but Dimitri could not understand the knowing smile she gave him, each time she said the words. 

Well, no, he _could_ \- but only if he accepted he truly was utterly incapable of hiding his feelings. He knew the importance of it. Especially now. Yet he seemed not in the least able to manage it. 

He had known he was falling in love with her almost from the first moment he saw her - by the stables, just a scant few days after they had all arrived at the monastery. He was exploring, in hopes it might quell, at least for a time, the anxiety brewing within him. Almost five years had passed since the crown of Faerghus had found its bloody way onto his head, but it was as yet only in name, not in practice. He had never actually _led_... except in battles he could hardly remember as anything more than a blur of savage, chaotic joy. And now he was in charge of some of the most esteemed, talented future nobles and warriors in all of Fódlan, and yet again by no more merit than the accident of his birth. It was madness. 

And so he wandered, on that last day before his true test began. 

Away from those who knew him, he was rarely given a second glance - and why would he be? Without the symbol of his position as house leader - the blue half-cape he still was not entirely sure how to clasp to the shoulder of his uniform - he appeared as just another student, like so many trying to get his bearings. He had looked into the greenhouse - wondering if Dedue had yet discovered it, and imagining how pleased he would be when he did - and into the depths of the fishing pond; wandered briefly around the marketplace, enjoying the brief novelty of it, the permanent structures. There _were_ market squares in Faerghus, of course, but the cold and the cost kept the time they were open short and seasonal; far more goods came from traveling merchants moving from place to place as the weather allowed. But he had nothing to buy at Garreg Mach’s marketplace, and despite the exotic wares, he soon wandered on. 

He heard the voice before he even realized he was nearing the stables - a sweet, soft, clear voice that reminded him, immediately, of an instrument he had once heard. A harp, perhaps? Whatever it was, it froze him: “Oh - hello there! What’s your name?”

His first assumption was that they were speaking to him, but unless they were hiding behind a wall, he saw no one. 

“Dorte, is it? I see you have a little sign and everything! It’s very nice to meet you, Dorte. Do you like apples? You _do_? I thought you might - all of my father’s horses love apples. Shall I bring you an apple, next time I visit? And some for your friends?”

Dimitri did not yet know - how _rare_ it would be, to hear such confidence in her voice. He just knew that voice was beautiful - and that he was deeply curious about who she might be talking to. Why would she need to bring anyone here apples? He had just seen plenty of spring fruits and vegetables for sale in the marketplace - and far more than would ever be available at home in Fhirdiad, this early in the year. 

He began to step around the long, low building - and that was when he heard a distinctly horse-y snort. 

“Oh, that’s the spot? Right there between your ears. I’ll have to remember that. What about your nose, then? It’s very soft!”

She was talking to... a horse?

He looked around the corner of what he had now worked out must be the stables. Not intending to snoop, but rather simply... to better _assess_ this curious situation. 

When he saw her, though, he knew there were no possible circumstances that would lend him the strength to take one step further... or to draw any attention to his lesser presence, his _existence_ , at all. 

Her face, her whole _self_ , seemed to radiate the same gentleness and kindness as her voice. Large, dark eyes; those pale tendrils of hair framing her cheeks. And...

Her _smile_. 

Like her confident voice, he had no idea then how rare that smile truly was. All he knew then was that it was, beyond any possible shadow of a doubt, the most beautiful smile in the world. 

“I’ll have to find a brush for you - you’d like that as well, wouldn’t you? An apple and a nice brushing - doesn’t it just sound lovely?” The horse had its head against her shoulder; she was patting its neck. 

He had to force himself to leave - surely, he did not want to be so rude as to eavesdrop. More than he already had. 

He learned her name from Annette. There was little surprise there; Annette seemed to have gotten to know everyone at Garreg Mach - not just students, _everyone_ \- before the first week of classes and training was done. “Hello, Marianne!” Dimitri heard her call one morning, waving at the girl as she walked past the first floor dormitory, a stack of books clutched against her chest. 

She froze and looked up - and it was like a deer, catching sight of a distant archer. Her dark eyes were wide, and for the first time, Dimitri would see the even darker crescents beneath them. There was no smile now, and her voice was soft and unsure: “Oh... hello.” And then she ducked her head and hurried off, her pace markedly quickened. 

He watched her. He couldn’t seem to help himself. Not because he liked looking at her - well... not _only_ that - but because he found himself strangely, desperately eager to try to understand her. She was almost always alone, rarely speaking to anyone, moving from place to place with her head down. She ate alone. She sat alone in the library. She prayed alone (and often). 

When he finally worked up the courage to offer prayers alongside her, she gave him the briefest of glances - then quickly turned back to the Goddess, closing her eyes once more. But she voiced no complaint, and he hoped that might be silent acceptance of his presence. 

He wasn’t focusing all of his energy on getting to know her, of course, nor even as much as he might have wished to - there was already more than enough to occupy his time. Not only classes and training, but also the strange, unnerving incidents around the monastery, and increasing rumbles of greater conflict to come. There was palpable tension. And, of course, he could not help but notice what seemed erratic behavior in Edelgard - someone he’d once believed he knew so well. She behaved as a stranger now, and worse, a dark, potentially dangerous one. He feared for her - and he feared for Fódlan. 

And... there were his own difficulties. He tried to dismiss them as merely indicative of stress. For a certainty, they were _all_ under stress. Were headaches and increasingly troubled dreams really such a surprise, under the circumstances? The echoes of what seemed almost-familiar voices, pulsing against his skull? Fragments of memories, trapped briefly within his subconscious. 

Still, it was all sometimes very difficult to ignore. 

He attempted to talk to her, bracing himself for how awkward he knew it would be. She rarely looked at him. She never smiled. 

When she asked him to stay away from her...

Of course, he did. It should not have been unexpected, truly. And he knew a bit more of her, by then, schools being as prone to scurrilous gossip as they were. He knew she had lost her family, though not the details of what had happened, and that she had been taken in by a distant relative only a few years previously. He knew Hilda had grown close to her, and seemed very protective. And he knew some believed she had a Crest, for some reason kept carefully secret. 

The last, Dimitri thought he might understand the reason, whatever it might be, better than most. His own Crest might be a boon on the battlefield, but was nothing but a nuisance in his everyday life. Perhaps hers was somehow similar. 

Then that day in the dining hall - he stood like a fool for what seemed half an eternity, hoping a place to sit anywhere else, anywhere at all, might open up. When he finally asked to join her - sitting, as almost always, alone - and she said yes, he felt a surge of relief; a dam bursting inside him, when he hadn’t even realized until that moment that it had existed at all. Stumbling over his own words, speaking nonsense he immediately regretted - until, for the first time, she smiled at him.

Then, she laughed. She _laughed_. 

A dam broken there, too. Slowly, slowly - she no longer shied, nor asked him to stay away. (And what a relief, to realize he had not overstepped any bounds, when she had said that!) Smiles came more frequently. She introduced him to Dorte, and Dimitri bowed and offered greeting, expressing more elegance than he was typically able to muster when telling Dorte what an honor it was to make the acquaintance of such a good friend to Marianne. Her face lit up then in a way he had never seen before. 

And Dimitri knew, beyond any shadow of a doubt, that he was in love with Marianne von Edmund. 

What might have happened, had war not erupted across Fódlan? Had Edelgard not fallen sway to ill-advisors and some incomprehensible longing for power? Had he not had to watch, from his post at a northern gate, Dorte’s bridle still clutched in his hand, as the carriages and horses from the alliance carried the woman he loved away?

He could make peace with losing her - so long as she was safe. What he had feared most of all was that her voice might one day join those within the tender-bruised confines of his skull. They did not merely echo, now. Now, they _raged_. 

Her voice did not come.

But she had. 

She shifted in bed, head falling from side to side, her brow furrowing. The blankets around her shifted, twisting away. 

He tucked them back around her - carefully, carefully. 

She stilled. Her face relaxed once more. 

He would need to have word sent to the man she now called her father - Rodrigue had advised him of this the day they had found her, and reminded him of the importance of it when, just days later, word arrived that both Edmund and Gloucester territories had declared for the Empire, despite the continued silence from Duke Riegan. Dimitri could not disagree with the necessary of informing Margrave Edmund, but before he ordered it done, he wished to hear from Marianne the reason why she had risked her life to come to Faerghus. He would not do anything that might put her in further danger. 

His hand was still resting against her shoulder, where he had smoothed her coverings back around her, when the knock came at the door - and he jerked back as if she was suddenly aflame. She twitched, but no more. 

“Your Highness?” Dedue’s voice. Of course. “My apologies. It is almost time for your war council.”

“I - yes. Thank you, Dedue.” He allowed himself only a moment - and a smile for her, though she could not see. “I must take my leave, I’m afraid. I shall return as soon as I am able. Rest well, Marianne.”

She stirred, but did not wake.

* * *

He was not able to make it back to her until the next evening. The war had led to several private discussions, including one with Rhea and Seteth to discuss how best to assist church faithful should Edelgard renege on her promise to allow them to worship as they pleased. Scouting reports, drafts of orders and declarations, rumors leaking from both Empire and Alliance - his attention was required by all, despite his powerlessness over what seemed the vast majority of it. There were whispers old Duke Riegan was finally on his death bed; Dimitri did wonder what Claude might do, when the Alliance was in his hands - follow Gloucester and Edmund to the Empire? Maintain neutrality? For some reason, Dimitri could not imagine him allying with Faerghus - but at the same time, when had he ever been able to understand what Claude might do? He was just as likely to be knocking on the front gates before tomorrow’s breakfast as anything else, as far as Dimitri might predict. 

He wondered if Marianne might have a better grasp of Claude. 

It was growing dark by the time he was able to see her. The fire was, as he had requested, still lit, but he put the candle he carried to the lamps as well, dispelling at least some of the shadows. He disliked shadows, the furtive movement of them - and he disliked even more the idea of anything moving furtively in a room where Marianne was asleep, all alone. 

He also didn’t like the thought of her alone in any circumstances - well, unless she truly _chose_ to be, and not out of some misguided idea that she was harmful and dangerous. He wanted her to feel wanted. And not from anything but herself - no Crest, no title, no family connections. Wanted as _Marianne_. 

Strangely, sometimes, she reminded him very strongly of someone else he had once loved - a more nascent, confusing love than this one, but just as true. They were nothing alike, nothing at all, but it wasn’t their personalities that brought similarity to mind. No - it was the way the world seemed to insist on treating them, buoying them about like a child’s wooden toy lost at sea, eating away at their trust and their security. 

He reached out, smoothing away a strand of hair that had fallen across her face - it made her nose twitch. The way the lamplight caught that hair - “You even look like her,” he said softly. 

“Nnh?” She turned her face towards him. A moment later - to his surprise - her eyes squinted open, finding his. “...Dimitri?” Her voice was hoarse - but still beautiful. So beautiful. 

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you.” Of course: she was finally awake when he was present, and he was already in a position that required apology even before a proper greeting. 

She worked an arm from under the pile of blankets and used a finger to rub one eye. “No, it’s fine... I... I think I’m ready to be awake. Just for a little while. I woke up earlier, but... no one was here.” She turned her head again, considering, then back again. “And... um... if it’s okay to ask... where _is_ here?”

He almost laughed - not to mock, but simply because her question struck him as almost painfully endearing, and because she had been brave enough to ask, and because this meant, it _must_ mean, that what the healers said was true: she was getting better. She was going to continue to get better. She was going to get _well._

“Castle Fhirdiad,” he said. “I must apologize for the rather chaotic atmosphere here at the moment.”

“Fhirdiad? I... This is... Fhirdiad?”

“Don’t let the warmth fool you. It is only in this room, I fear.”

 _She_ was the one who laughed - as hoarse as her voice, but laughter nonetheless. “I can’t believe I made it...”

He allowed himself a smile - surprised at how easily it came. They didn’t often, these days. “You made it, indeed. Though if _I_ may ask - how? The trade wagons, perhaps? That’s mostly all that crosses the borders, these days - did something happen during the journey?”

Too many questions - her eyes darted away, and her cheeks flushed. “No. I... I made a mistake. I didn’t bring enough money. So I... I walked.”

“You...?” He stared. He couldn’t help himself. “You _walked_? All the way from...”

“From my adoptive father’s house. And... I don’t think him likely to want me back, but I can find somewhere else to go if... if coming here was a mistake.” She closed her eyes, but it did nothing to hide the sadness, the pain in her expression and her voice: “I’m sorry for all the trouble I’ve caused you.”

“Marianne...” The arm she had pulled from the coverings was still out, resting at her side. He reached out - almost impulsively - and stroked his fingers against the back of her hand, over the smooth little bumps of her knuckles. “I remember what I said - and I meant every word. You came and found me, just as I asked of you, and I shall keep my end of that promise, as well: anything within my power to help you with, I will do. If that - or even part of that - is allowing you to remain safely here in Faerghus, then none shall force your departure as long as I still breathe.” He hesitated, then took a deep breath, letting it out slowly. “I would never force you to stay against your own will, of course, but if I may express a rather selfish desire, I... I hope that you _will_ stay.”

For a time, there was silence - and a divot still between her eyebrows. “Who did you mean?” she finally asked - very softly. Her eyes remained closed. 

“Who did I...?”

“You said... I looked like someone. Um... didn’t you?”

“Oh.” He should never have said that, whether she could hear him or not. “Yes, but... it was just a passing thought. I was thinking of the past.”

“The past...” The divot deepened. There were creases at the corners of her eyes. “You meant Edelgard, didn’t you?” She bit her lower lip then - hard. As if already punishing herself for allowing the words to escape her.

But he was the one who had gaffed - ruining her brief, awakened happiness before he had even realized it was tonight a possibility. But he would not lie to her: “The way the light caught your hair... Yes. I did mean Edelgard.”

“You’re very interested in her. I, um... I saw you watching her. Quite... quite often. Before...”

Flummoxed, he had no words for a time - just his own jumbled thoughts, which seemed to scatter like minnows each time he attempted to gather them. “My relationship with Edelgard is... rather complicated.” It would take all night just to try to explain his own feelings, much less make a broken attempt to go into the scraps and fragments he knew of her history; his fumbling attempts to speak to her during their earliest days at the monastery had provided hardly more information than he might have gotten asking the same questions of a wall. Best to keep it simpler: “She was my stepsister, once. Her mother was married to my father, but both lost their lives at Duscur. Edelgard is... she’s family I fear I can never regain.”

Finally, Marianne opened her eyes. He could still see the deep pain there - but now he knew it was for him. That somehow made it harder still to see: he would never, _should_ never, add to the tremendous emotional burden he knew that she already bore. 

“I had no idea,” she said softly.

“Very few do. Or ever did. It was not the most pleasant of circumstances for anyone involved. But I know you must be tired - I will bore you with the details, should you wish to hear them, at a later time.”

“I’m... I’m sorry. Both for what happened, and... for watching you. I should not have done that, but...”

“I must confess to the same.”

Her eyes met his - confused, now. “What?”

He finally laughed - but it was brief, and contained little humor. “A sin upon us both, if you were to name it so. I watched you as well. I... wished very much, then, that I better knew how to ease the sadness writ so clearly across your face.”

She bit her lip, hesitating - then attempted a smile. “You did, I think. Maybe. I... don’t feel very sad right now, though it... it feels as though I should. I feel... warm.” 

He looked towards the fireplace. “Is the fire too high? I can tamp it down. Or help you remove some of your coverings. Perhaps I overdid it, when I -”

For the second time, she laughed - and twisted her hand, so that her fingers could wrap around his own. “A _good_ warm,” she said. Her cheeks were flushed once more. “You are... You’re _gentle_.”

He was taken aback - rarely had anyone called him something so preposterous. “...Gentle? _Me?_ ”

She smiled at that - that tiny, lovely smile. “Yes. I think you’re very gentle, Dimitri.”

“But I... I cannot... Please, do not trust me with gentleness. Please.”

“But you are.” Her fingers released his and reached up, cupping his cheek. Her palm was cool and soft. “You... you called me lucky once. Do you remember?”

For a moment, all he could focus on was that hand. Who had last touched him so? And... could he...? He shook his head, just to clear it - then realized his gaffe. “No. I mean - yes, of course I remember. Yes. I... I apologize. Yes. I remember saying... something like that.”

She laughed again. He loved her laugh. He loved...

“If you can name me _lucky_ ,” she said, “then I can name you _gentle_.”

“I... suppose that is fair.” His own smile, now, felt rather rueful - ridiculous. 

She was still looking up at him. Her eyes, darkened almost to black - the dim light? - were on his, and her brow was drawn. “Dimitri...?”

He took a deep breath. “I will try. I can only promise... that I will _always_ try. Try to be gentle with you.”

A chance - and he risked it. He bent closer, and let his lips brush against hers. Her hand tightened against his face, and he let the kiss deepen, feeling her shudder. Wondering at it. Longing for it. 

For her. 

But still...

He was careful.

He was... gentle. 

She was the first to pull away - and her eyes ,when they met his again, looked almost frightened. She spoke a single word: “...Stay?”

He struggled to catch his breath - and to understand. “Marianne, I -”

“Dimitri.” Surety in her voice, if not in her expression. “ _Please_. Just... just stay. I don’t want... I don’t want to be... alone.” Her hand found his own once more - and pulled. “Please?”

Unfamiliar intimacy - her back against him, his arms curling awkwardly around her. The sound and feel of breathing, slowing to sleep. She was warm. Soft. Her hair smelled of woodsmoke and lavender and something like worn leather. A good smell. 

Chaste intimacy. Beautiful, unearned intimacy. 

When he slept, no voices found him.


End file.
